


Persona Non Grata

by Jadzialove



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, snarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzialove/pseuds/Jadzialove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After traveling the world, Harry figures he's seen it all. His first stop back in London proves that notion wrong, then sets him on a mission to help. Whether Snape wants it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Persona Non Grata

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Katling for the 2007 Snarry Holidays on Live Journal. From the exchange, this is Katling's prompt: Severus is still viewed with suspicion and distrust, Harry dislikes this intensely and decides to take steps. Hope this fits the bill, Katling!
> 
> As always, thank you to RaeWhit, the best beta evah, and to blamebrampton, for additional and awesome beta-ing as well as Brit-pick service.

* * *

  
  
**Persona Non Grata**  
  
  
"Yes, I require thr—" the dour request was abruptly cut off, before it could fully pass the thin lips.  
  
"Ah, Philomena! It's been an age. How are you, dear? What can I get for you today?"  
  
"Hullo, Enid. I've a touch of lumbago, actually… don't normally like to complain, mind, but since you've asked…. Other than that, I'm fit as a fiddle. I'll have some of that burn-healing paste of yours, if you please. Archie's decided to try his hand at cooking, bless him. Thank goodness for ' _Evanesco_ ' and Mrs. Skower's is all I've to say about it."  
  
Harry couldn't believe his eyes. Initially, the shock had been due to seeing the man at all, much less in the first hour he'd been back in England. But while he stood gawping, he'd watched the old witch behind the counter ignore Snape not once, not twice, but _three times_ , in favor of other shoppers who'd walked up after him.   
  
In each instance, Harry waited for an angry eruption, but the stony face had remained just that. The only thing that even hinted Snape was less than pleased were the white knuckles of his right hand, which were clutching a piece of parchment.  
  
As Philomena and her lumbago shuffled out the door, yet another customer was helped ahead of Snape, and, outraged, Harry was about to speak up when he heard a delighted squeal.  
  
"Harry! There you are." Suddenly, his arms were full of Hermione, and he hugged her tight, not realizing until that moment just how much he'd missed her.   
  
Pulling away first, she held him at arm's length to inspect him. She looked a picture in soft blue robes, hair loosely gathered atop her head with a clip: professional but lovely.   
  
He asked with a grin, "So, do I pass?"  
  
"You stayed away far too long this time," she chastised, but added, "You look wonderful, of course. And so handsome without your glasses—that'll take a bit of getting used to." She squeezed him again. "Thank you for meeting me here instead of the Leaky. I didn't tell Ron you were coming, so we could surprise him, but I have to pick up something to settle my stomach—it's been upset for days."  
  
"Harry Potter?! It _is_ you!" Enid loudly proclaimed, and Snape finally disproving the notion that he was a grim statue oddly erected near the counter by turning his head and sending Harry a look that began fleetingly as surprise and ended as a very familiar and strangely comforting sneer.  
  
Enid looked from Harry to Hermione, sending them a warm, ingratiating smile. "How delightful to have you back with us. What can I get for you, dears?"  
  
As much as Harry wanted to tell her that some manners for herself would be nice for starters, he held his tongue, deciding that charm might work better with the woman. He smiled broadly and replied, "Thank you—Enid, is it?—it's good to be home." He smiled at her again, then tipped his head toward Snape. "But I believe Professor Snape was here before us."  
  
She sent a dismissive look toward Snape, who'd resumed his statue routine, and with an equally dismissive wave of her hand replied, "Oh, he'll wait. He'll have a much longer order than you, I'm certain."  
  
Harry smiled again, hoping it looked as if he meant it. "That's all right—he's been standing there an awfully long time. We'll wait." Adding firmly when Enid seemed to consider objecting again, "I insist."  
  
She looked uncertain and stammered, "Well, I … if you insist."   
  
Turning toward Snape, her smile lost some of its warmth. She held out her hand, impatiently gesturing for Snape to hand over his order.   
  
Snape hesitated, then grudgingly extended the abused parchment across the wooden counter, reluctantly releasing it as it was snatched out of his grip.  
  
Harry didn't expect any thanks from Snape, and he wasn't disappointed. He was, however, taken aback slightly, though he tried not to show it, when Snape shot him an extremely venomous look while Enid looked over his list.  
  
"The aconite will be double what it was last time," she sniffed without looking up.  
  
Snape didn't seem surprised at the sharp price increase, as he replied stiffly, "That is acceptable, madam." Though, Harry could see his fist clenched tightly at his side.  
  
They waited in a tense silence while Enid filled Snape's order, Snape never turning once to look their way. When the transaction was completed, Hermione took her turn at the counter, smiling encouragingly at Snape, who sneered and then brushed past Harry, arms filled with his parcels, growling in that deep, dangerous voice, "I'll thank you to mind your own business, Potter, and stop interfering in mine."  
  
"You're welcome." Harry gave him a small, uneven smile.  
  
"Idiot," was Snape's parting word.  
  
As they made their way down Diagon Alley to Weasleys' Wizards Wheezes, Harry couldn't stop thinking about what he'd witnessed, and felt compelled to ask Hermione if she had any earthly idea what had been up with Snape.  
  
"Honestly, Harry, I don't know. He's engaged in some sort of war with the rest of the world, I think; that happens all the time. The first time I saw it, I tried, just as you have, with much the same result. He doesn't seem to _want_ any help." She sighed before continuing, sounding frustrated, "But it doesn't make any sense—he's got the Ministry contract for the Wolfsbane program. I can tell you, without specifics, it's a very lucrative venture for him, not to mention the wonderful service he's providing for wizarding society in general."  
  
"Your doing, no doubt."  
  
She blushed prettily. "Well, they should be _thanking_ him, not treating him so horribly, even if he is miserable to them."  
  
Further talk of the issue was halted when a large, red blur nearly bowled Harry over, then lifted him clear off of the ground. "Harry! When did you get here?" Ron looked at his wife while still holding Harry aloft. "You knew he was coming?"  
  
Hermione beamed. "I did; I wanted to surprise you."  
  
Harry looked down into Ron's open face and clear blue eyes and was once again sharply reminded how much he'd missed his friends. He gave him a lopsided grin and said, "Surprise." Then added, "Er, you might want to put me down, Ron. I could get used to this, and I'd hate to break Hermione's heart."  
  
Ron dropped him immediately, snorting with affection, "Ruddy poof." Then he hugged Harry properly, with much manly thumping on the back, but leaving his feet on the ground this time.   
  
When Ron released him again, they saw Hermione helping an ancient witch down the single step at the entrance of the shop next door. A gnarled, leathery hand was lifted to pat Hermione's cheek, and smiling warmly, the wizened woman leant close to say something only Hermione could hear. Whatever it was had Hermione lighting up like a Christmas tree. Another much younger woman followed close behind and said, "You can take that to the bank—Nan's not been wrong yet, not in a hundred and twenty-six years."  
  
Hermione turned back toward them with wet eyes. Concerned, Ron reached for her as she moved closer, and asked gently, "Hey, why the water-works?"  
  
She laid her head on his chest for moment, brushing at the wet on her face before answering, "I feel so silly—I should have known, all the signs were right there in front of me. A woman should know these things. But I've been so busy at work, so distracted by the new legislation I'm drafting …"  
  
He brushed some of the loose curls away from her face. "I'm afraid you're gonna have to spell it out for me, luv. I've no idea what you're talking about. What'd that old witch say to you?"  
  
"She said it's a 'healthy, strong, ginger-haired girl' and that 'the sickness will soon pass.' I'm pregnant!" she exclaimed, then burst into tears.  
  
Ron seemed more flustered by his wife's odd frame of mind than by the extraordinary statement she'd just made, and Harry had a feeling that it hadn't penetrated his brain yet. "You are? Why're you crying, then?"   
  
"I don't know," she sobbed.  
  
"Okay. It's okay—we'll figure it out. Don't cry." Ron hugged her close then stuck his head in the shop door. "Oi! George! I'm gonna nip home for a bit and take care of Hermione."  
  
The loud reply boomed from inside the shop, moving closer to them as he spoke, "Oh-ho! An afternoon slap and tickle with the wifey, Ronniekins? I heartily appr— Harry!"  
  
Despite the fact that George was shorter, Harry found himself once again lifted off the ground, and he wondered idly if he shouldn't be eating more.  
  
"Hullo, George."  
  
"Hullo, Harry." He set Harry back on his feet and grinned that easy grin of his, throwing a companionable arm around Harry's shoulders, then turned to Ron. "What's all this, then?" he asked, motioning toward Hermione.  
  
Ron finally looked a bit thunderstruck. "I'm gonna be a father," he said, sounding dumfounded, as though he couldn't imagine how such a thing could happen. Then he looked at Harry, as if seeking confirmation, and repeated, "I'm gonna be a father."  
  
"Yeah, mate, you are. A brilliant one," Harry encouraged.  
  
"Oh, see that explains Hermione—makes me want to cry too," George put in dryly.   
  
Harry tried to elbow him in the ribs, but George evaded the blow, laughing.  
  
All kidding aside, Harry had meant what he'd said; he could actually see his friends as the parents they were to become, and the news only cemented the decision he'd been contemplating for a while.   
  
Hermione finally took a deep breath. "I'm okay now, but I think… Harry, how long will you stay this time? Would it be all right if we got together another day?"  
  
"Any day is fine, actually—I'm staying. For good."  
  
He was embraced again, this time from three different sides. Once they untangled, he kissed Hermione on the cheek. "Go home, Mum, and put your feet up—take Dad with you before he keels over." He gestured toward Ron, who looked very pleased but still a bit green around the gills. "I'll help George."  
  
It was surprisingly easy to fall back into the shop's routine—though, he didn't quite recall it ever being this crowded.   
  
George rushed past him, grinning. "Looks like you're good for business, mate!"  
  
Throughout the afternoon, he was greeted warmly, welcomed enthusiastically, slapped on the back, sometimes hugged, and had his hand shaken until it was numb. It reminded him a lot of his very first trip to Diagon Alley, actually.   
  
He became suspicious, however, when Andromeda—looking like a Greek statue come to life in some sort of strappy, flat sandals and a long, flowy frock—walked into the shop with Teddy impatiently tugging her by the hand.   
  
"Uncle Harry!"   
  
He scooped the boy up and settled the squirming bundle of nearly six-year-old on his hip, chuckling when Teddy's hair changed from tawny to his signature blue. "All right, monkey? You're nearly too big for me to lift; what's your gran feeding you?"   
  
Teddy's grandmother smiled brightly, but said with a bit of censure in her voice, "Just when, exactly, were you planning to let us know you were home?"  
  
Harry dutifully kissed the cheek she'd presented to him and replied, "I've only been in country for three, maybe four hours! How'd you even know I was here?"  
  
"You're famous! It was on the wireless!" Teddy proclaimed, sounding very impressed.   
  
He raised his eyebrows in surprise, looking to Andromeda. "The wireless? Whatever for?"   
  
"It's true—couldn't get this one to settle down until I brought him to see you." Teddy hid his reddening face in Harry's neck.  
  
"Well, I'm certainly glad you did!" He dug his fingers into Teddy's side, tickling him to help ease the boy's embarrassment, until he was shrieking with laughter. Harry set him on his feet once he'd calmed down a bit and then asked Andromeda, "Why'd they announce it on the wireless? I've been home before."  
  
" _We_ know that, of course, but you do keep a very low profile—the only people who see you are family." The statement gave Harry a warm feeling; he liked that Andromeda thought of him that way.   
  
Teddy had grabbed hold of Harry's arm and was trying to climb up his leg, so Harry hefted him up sideways, holding him to his side so his denim-clad bum was up in the air, provoking another gale of laughter. "I s'pose, but I don't know why it's newsworthy."  
  
"That's exactly what makes you _you_ , Harry." Andromeda shook her head and smiled fondly at him. "People are very grateful for what you've done for them. And they've heard about you for years, some of them their _entire_ lives." She lifted her hand and patted his cheek. "They haven't seen you in a while and want to know that you're well. They _care_ about you, goose. It's not so hard to understand, really."  
  
His face heated up like a schoolboy's, and he couldn't help being pleased, even if he thought the wizarding world a little mad for their interest. Teddy broke the moment by tugging on his trousers and asking from somewhere near Harry's ankle, "Uncle Harry, can we go flying before you go away again?"  
  
The streak of guilt that flashed through Harry was entirely justified—if he hadn't already decided to stick around, this would've clinched it. He'd been so selfish, staying away. Traveling, seeing the world had been fun, but it was well past time to come home.   
  
He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Absolutely." He lifted the boy so he was right-side-up again. "In fact, I'll need a little bit of time to get settled somewhere, but I'm not going away anymore. I'm home for good this time."   
  
Teddy squeezed his neck. "Promise?"  
  
"Promise."  
  
It was Andromeda's turn to bestow a kiss to the cheek. "That's wonderful news, Harry. You've been missed." She patted Teddy's back. "Come along, Mr. Lupin, we've a nap awaiting us, and we mustn't keep Uncle Harry any longer."  
  
Teddy gave one last squeeze and whispered, "I'm so happy you're home."  
  
"Me too." Harry buried his nose in Teddy's once again tawny hair and planted a kiss at his temple, then set him on his feet, waving as they went out the door.  
  
The crowd had kept a respectful distance, even if some of them appeared to have gone misty-eyed by the scene, but when Teddy and Andromeda had gone, the shop was bustling once more, and Harry didn't have a spare moment for the rest of the afternoon.   
  
He let himself into number twelve, Grimmauld Place, creeping past the portrait near the entrance, though Mrs. Black had become eerily quiet after Kreacher died, two years ago. The old house-elf had managed to make the entire dwelling more than habitable, even if Harry was only there for a couple weeks at a time every few months, but he couldn't imagine living there full time.   
  
Which meant he needed to start looking for a place to live—a real home, with a room for Teddy, so he could come to visit.   
  
The scent wafting from the take-away he'd picked up made his stomach remind him, rather loudly, that he was starving. He'd never got his lunch with Hermione and Ron, and hadn't had a moment all day to grab something. George had offered to feed him, of course, and he'd always been good for a laugh, but Harry had too much going on in his head to fully enjoy George's company.  
  
He grabbed the paper bag and took it into the library, flicking his wand at the empty grate and setting a fire blazing to chase away the shadows and the spring damp. As he tucked in, he thought of all that had transpired since he'd been back in town.   
  
Beyond the news of his best friends' impending parenthood, and the fact that he'd made the quick but very right decision to end his traveling ways, he boggled at the sheer number of people and the warmth of the greetings he'd received today. Better still, they'd all seemed sincere; no one appeared to want anything more from him than to say hello, or to welcome him home.   
  
It'd all been entirely … unreal, but rather a nice feeling to know he'd been missed.  
  
He hadn't been running away when he'd started traveling, but anyone watching from the outside might've interpreted it that way, as it was only a few months after Ginny had abruptly but very kindly broken things off with him.   
  
In reality, though, George had taken him in during that time: had helped him suss out why Ginny ended up so terribly disappointed; had helped him realize why, no matter how desperately he'd wanted to love Ginny and have that perfect fantasy family with her, putting it into practice had proven difficult. Nearly impossible, even.   
  
So when Harry had decided to see the world, it'd been with a genuine desire to do so, and he'd set out with a new and very good understanding of himself.  
  
And it'd been fantastic.   
  
They'd not been idle holidays by any means, because Harry had wanted experiences more than pampering. He'd done nearly everything: worked as a deckhand on a crab boat in the Bering Sea, pulling monstrous king crabs from the deep, frigid water for a grueling but rewarding season; he'd worked as a pontil boy in Venice, watching in awe as the glass masters crafted graceful, fluid beauty from molten sand; he'd worked for a season on an archeological dig in the Valley of the Kings, and though they'd not made any large important finds, each shard of faience or alabaster, each fragmented shabti figure had sent his heart racing with the knowledge it'd been held by someone _thousands_ of years ago—touching the past was a heady experience.  
  
That's not to say it'd been all work. He'd had plenty of leisure, as well.   
  
He'd seen some stunning sunsets, and breathtaking natural wonders; he'd even wiled away an afternoon or two in a hammock on a white sand beach in the Gulf of Mexico. He'd met some incredible people he'd remember forever—and a few he'd like to forget too. One of the most memorable had been Paolo, another pontil boy, working in the oppressive heat of the Venetian kiln house. Not much older than Harry, he'd been tall and wiry, with a fantastic roman nose and an unexpected easy grin that had been Harry's undoing.   
  
Harry smiled at the memory; he'd learned a lot from Paolo.  
  
Thinking of him had caused his groin to tighten—a languid, curling pull—and he wondered now if he shouldn't have taken George up on his offer after all.   
  
He aimed his wand at his take-away rubbish and muttered, " _Evanesco_ ," then rested his legs on the ottoman in front of him.   
  
It hadn't been his plan, but what benefit was there to living alone if a bloke couldn't have a wank whenever he felt like it?  
  
In no particular hurry, Harry rubbed along the lengthening bulge in his trousers, enjoying the heat of his hand through the denim. He unfastened the button and slid his hand inside, pushing the zip down as he went, finally releasing the hardening length.   
  
As Paolo was the cause of his arousal, he became the star of the scene Harry conjured in his mind. More memory than fantasy, he could almost feel the warm Italian sun on his shoulders as Paolo removed his own clothing, revealing that wonderful olive skin stretched over sleek muscles and a nearly hairless chest.   
  
Paolo had had a particular talent for sucking cock and Harry stroked steadily but slowly, cupping his balls with his free hand as Paolo said, in his heavily accented, broken English, "I suck you. Make you come big, no?"   
  
"Yes, definitely yes, Paolo," Harry sighed into the empty room. "Make me come big."   
  
Kneeling between Harry's parted legs, Paolo gently kissed the inside of Harry's thighs, his hips, his stomach—everywhere but the spot that ached for his mouth the most, murmuring lovely words in Italian that Harry didn't understand but couldn't get enough of. He tongued Harry's bollocks, then up the shaft, finally swirling around the sensitive glans, paying special attention to the slit, then gently sucking just the head.   
  
Paolo smirked, and with an exaggerated lick of his lips declared, "Squisito," then bent his head back down to his task.   
  
Harry's moans filled the library. He lifted his hips so he could push his trousers down farther and access his arse, teasing the hole with his finger and stroking himself harder, while fantasy Paolo finally swallowed his throbbing prick, using that devilish tongue to full advantage. Harry moaned louder and Paolo looked up, not releasing his mouthful, but then Paolo's warm brown eyes turned to black and his skin to pale, and—oh god— _Snape_ was sucking him in his hot mouth and humming and swallowing and Harry thrust his hips up roughly into his stroking hand, pumping furiously as he pressed his finger inside.   
  
Then, grunting incoherently, he cried out his release, spurting powerfully into the air, causing pearly white splotches to fall on his shirt, his cheek, his hair, even the chair arm.  
  
Well.  
  
He sat dazed for a moment, then cleaned himself up with a quick and wandless ' _Scourgify_ '. It wasn't the first time that Snape had invaded a wank session, so it wasn't as disturbing as it could've been. But Harry did wonder if he weren't a little perverse, fantasizing about a man who'd seemingly been in love with his mother, one whom he'd been at odds with for more years than not.   
  
And what did it say about him that the experience was generally more intense on those occasions?   
  
Harry shrugged it off, choosing, as usual, not to analyze it.   
  
It did bring to mind, though, what he'd seen earlier in Slug & Jiggers.   
  
Even with everything else that'd gone on today, the mystery of Severus Snape was never far from his thoughts, which might explain his sudden appearance this evening.   
  
If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would've found the situation completely unbelievable.   
  
How could that woman have been so incredibly rude? And Hermione had said it happened all the time. He couldn't help comparing it to his own warm welcome home. It didn't seem right.   
  
It offended his sense of justice, of fair play.   
  
More importantly, why had Snape just stood there and taken it? It seemed completely at odds with the man Harry knew.  
  
It certainly appeared worth investigating to see if Hermione was right and this thing with Snape really did happen all the time. Harry's fortune was such that he'd never have to work another day if didn't want to, but he liked to be busy, to be productive, and getting to the bottom of this seemed a worthwhile occupation.   
  
He could decide what to do with the rest of his life later.   
  
Sated and sleepy, Harry headed upstairs for bed, pondering how he might manage to spy on a man who'd been a spy himself, nearly as long as Harry had been alive, and do so without bringing the wrath of Snape down upon him.  
  
  
~xXx~  
  
  
"Oi! Mind where you're stepping!"   
  
"Sorry!" he told the cross-looking man he'd intentionally jostled in the crowd.  
  
After the fourteenth blank look, Harry considered his testing of Luna's _Anonymous_ spell a success. He was one of only a handful of people who knew about the spell, and he didn't know the mechanics of it (though he'd been present when Hermione had very excitedly spoken at length with Luna about Arithmancy and other things that had had Harry's eyes glazing over in self-defense), but it seemed to work as designed.  
  
"It's a bit depressing not being recognized by people you've known for years," Neville had cautioned years ago, while relating his use of the spell Luna had created for him. Harry experienced this firsthand when he spotted Mr. Weasley and waved without thinking; the man had knitted his eyebrows together, waving apprehensively in return, clearly only being polite, and then continued on his way at a faster pace. He didn't know how the Aurors did it without going mad—their version allowed for partner recognition, though, which might help.  
  
Harry spent all of Saturday waiting in vain for Snape to show. As the merchants of Diagon Alley had begun to treat him as a suspicious character, Harry decided to start fresh on Monday. Luckily, the _Anonymous_ spell worked so that they wouldn't recognize him as the same suspicious character when he returned.  
  
Monday brought with it a persistent, somewhat gloomy mist that Harry felt appropriate for his cloak and dagger activity. It finally saw the appearance of Snape as well.   
  
Keeping a cautious distance behind, Harry set off with the hope of gleaning some understanding, following the man as he went about his business with a perpetually determined glower through Diagon Alley and its tributaries.   
  
A week later, Snape hadn't visited the same shop twice.   
  
On Monday, it was the second-hand bookshop, where the clerk had slammed each of Snape's purchases on the counter, snatched the money out of his hand and had thrown his change on the floor with such force that the Sickles and Knuts went scattering across the wooden planks, some of them under the massive bookshelves.   
  
Snape had looked furious, but had only said, " _Accio_ Snape's change." And then headed off to the Owl Post, where he was ignored for three hours, during which Harry had to invent reasons to lurk about near the doorway so as not to miss him.  
  
On Wednesday, down Coloss Alley, at the butcher's, Snape had been shouted at and treated to the not so subtle threat of a large waving meat cleaver, which was interesting, as Harry didn't know that wizards used actual cleavers. Snape had taken his likely substandard piece of meat without a word, though there was a curious twitching in the cheek beneath his left eye.  
  
On Thursday, down Surre Alley, at the Curiosity Shop, Snape and the proprietress haggled over a particularly ugly mustard pot. But it was unlike any of the bargaining Harry had seen in the desert bazaars, as the woman raised her price every time Snape countered. It wasn't until the final price was three times what it was when they'd begun that she finally relented with a scowl, "Fine! Sold!" And once he'd forked over the exorbitant price, she finished the process with a shrill, "Now take your rubbish and your purchase out of here!"  
  
But the worst day, by far, was Friday, the day on which he went first to Slug & Jiggers, and then on to Cordi Alley, after Enid had deigned to fill his order.   
  
Cordi Alley was very distinct and somewhat nauseating in its lacey pinkness. There was a sewing shop, a milliner's which displayed frilly hats in the windows, a frock shop that sold gaudy, elaborately decorated dress robes—who knew there were so many shades of pink?—and just before they'd arrived at their destination, Harry was horrifyingly certain he saw the shop that was the source of Umbridge's kitten plates.  
  
He couldn't imagine what in the world Snape would need down this alley, but he found out when Snape entered the last shop on the left, which was a teashop. Harry barely had enough time to catch Snape up before a parcel in brown paper came sailing out the door, and Snape, briskly after it. The witches who ran the shop—one of whom looked vaguely familiar—cackled wildly, calling Snape filthy names from the doorway, bringing to mind Muggle Halloween witches. All that was needed were green faces and warty noses to complete the picture.  
  
For all his efforts, Harry was more confused than ever, and he wondered, not for the first time, why Snape didn't just pop into Tesco's—one-stop shopping, and if they're rude there, at least it's not personal.  
  
Harry couldn't say exactly why, but he was determined to get to the bottom of this, and so, he followed Snape again the following week, discovering that Snape had a rather rigid routine. He visited the same shops on the same days; the results had little variation apart from Thursday, when he'd haggled over a ceramic Snow White toast rack, and the price crept higher and higher, despite the fact that two of the dwarves' heads were missing.  
  
"Two Galleons, fifteen Sickles."  
  
"Four Galleons and not a Knut less for it!"  
  
"Three Galleons, fourteen Sickles," Snape countered.  
  
The clerk narrowed her eyes, "Four Galleons, _nine Sickles_."  
  
"Four Galleons," Snape gritted out through a clenched jaw.  
  
"Sold. Now get out."  
  
Harry was glad though, that he'd followed Snape that second week, because he noticed something very curious. As Snape moved through the various Alleys, some of the proprietors and clerks from the shops that Snape pointedly avoided, stood in the windows and doorways, smiling encouragingly, bravely attempting to look welcoming in the face of that mighty scowl, hopeful that he might give them some business this time.  
  
He didn't know what it meant, but it seemed important to know, somehow, that Snape had _chosen_ to frequent the shops in which he was treated horribly, while clearly, there were others in town that would gladly do business with him, and likely treat him with the same respect they gave all of their customers.  
  
  
~xXx~  
  
  
"Don't think you did 'im any favors when you saved his life and then called him a hero to anyone that'd listen, is all."  
  
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed.  
  
"No, look, it was the right thing to do, but he's obviously miserable," George explained. Clearly, he and Ron had discussed the subject before. "I think he _enjoyed_ being the villain."  
  
"It's so much worse than that—I've, er, sort of been following him around a bit."  
  
"Oh, Harry, you followed him?" asked Hermione.  
  
"I did, how else was I going to find out what's going on with him?"  
  
"Hermione," Ron put in, "leave off, I wanna know what he saw."  
  
"Anyway, I ended up with _less_ understanding of it, really." Harry related his past week or so to his friends, and when he'd finished, it was George who spoke first.   
  
"Dunno what that's all about, but I do remember there being some talk of a Snape problem, couple years ago. WiLMA held a special meeting about it and everything—"  
  
"Wilma? Who's she?"  
  
"Not a _she_ , a _what_. Wizarding London Merchants' Association." He scratched his cheek, thinking. "They sent a flyer round calling a meeting to discuss 'the Snape Situation.' Never went though, since I didn't have a Snape situation, did I?" He smirked. "He did come in once, Snape, a while back. Was weird now that I think of it."  
  
"Snape. In your shop." Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Weird he was there or weird for another reason?"  
  
"Well, it started out normal enough—he was all: 'Mr. Weasley' in that dead-sexy, 'fifty points from Gryffindor' voice, yeah?"  
  
Harry smirked, "Oh, yeah."  
  
Hermione cut in, "You weren't rude to him, were you?"  
  
"You wound me, woman. Course I wasn't rude to him! I was very respectful. Didn't get very far into the shop anyway. That's what was weird—he opened his mouth, like he was gonna say something, then closed it, quick like, grabbed the first thing on the counter, bought it and practically flew out the door." George started sniggering.  
  
Harry had to ask, but Ron beat him to it. "What'd he buy?"  
  
George sniggered harder. "A pack of Erump-Mint gum."  
  
Ron burst out laughing and George's snigger turned into a full-blown laugh as well. Harry looked at Hermione bemusedly, then asked, "Erump-Mint gum? What's that?"  
  
Once Ron collected himself enough, he answered, wiping at his eyes, "That's one of mine. It's chewing gum that, um, promotes good health through flatulence." This set George and Ron howling again, both of them red-faced and holding their sides.  
  
Hermione covered her mouth in shock, then said, "You didn't!"  
  
"I didn't! He's the one that grabbed it—it was there by the till, with all the other rubbish we want to get rid of." George made an effort to appear indignant, but failed, sniggering again.  
  
Curious about the name, Harry asked, "Why Erump-Mint?"   
  
"Erumpents," George said expectantly. When Harry still didn't understand, he elaborated, "They're rather… _explosive_ , aren't they?" He and Ron howled with laughter again, and Harry couldn't stop the snigger that bubbled out of him.  
  
Hermione, however, was not amused. "That's horrible!"  
  
Ron intervened, defending his brother. "Hermione, it's a _joke shop_ —what d'you expect?"  
  
She sighed. "Still—it seems… mean-spirited, somehow."  
  
"Hermione, I swear to you, I was very much the proper business owner with him. I even tried to _give_ him the gum—he _insisted_ on paying for it."  
  
As talk turned toward a new Wheeze George and Ron were working on, Harry helped Hermione in the kitchen, which mainly consisted of watching while she set the dishes washing themselves in the sink.  
  
They sat at the small table in the kitchen after Hermione had fixed for herself a watery-looking herbal tea and a good strong coffee for Harry.  
  
"I don't get it, Hermione, it seems like Snape actually _wants_ to be treated that way. I didn't tell you before, but I noticed in a lot of the shops, the ones he never sets foot in, there were people trying to get him to come inside, people who looked friendly. And he ignored them in favor of the idiots that treat him like crap."  
  
She tapped her lips and looked thoughtful for a moment then asked, "Are you at all familiar with self-flagellation?"  
  
Harry pinked slightly, he could feel it in his face, and hoped the sudden change in topic wasn't at all what it sounded like. "What?"   
  
Smiling in a way that Harry knew meant she was pleased to impart knowledge, she launched into an explanation that was happily sex-free. "It's an archaic form of penance that involves self-punishment—the person practicing self-flagellation, usually a monk, would punish himself physically for perceived wrongs or sins, flogging his legs, or his own back, sometimes severely, to make up for whatever transgression against God he believed himself to have committed."  
  
"And you think Snape is doing this?"  
  
"Well, I don't think he's suddenly found religion and practicing this archaic form of it, no, but I do think he might be punishing himself for _something_."  
  
"That's what's bothering me the most about it, I think—it seems insane that Snape, of all people, would allow _anybody_ to treat him that way, much less seek it out."  
  
"The only way you'll know for certain, Harry, is to talk to him about it. It's just speculation otherwise."  
  
"Yeah, there's a conversation I see happening¬—with a man who's always been so open and willing to speak to me," Harry said sardonically.  
  
"Or, you could just let him be."  
  
She'd shrugged, but the casual gesture was belied by the challenge in her voice, which wasn't necessary. She probably knew that too—Harry couldn't just let it go. For more reasons than he was willing to admit, he had a driving need to make this right for the man; his little project was quickly becoming an obsession, it seemed.  
  
Which is why he found himself once again in Diagon Alley on Monday morning. He was running a bit late, as there'd been a Snape-induced wank to contend with, after a very intense dream, but his plan had been to arrive before Snape, as himself.  
  
The rest of plan was not so well thought out, but loosely involved trying to intervene, as he'd done that first day. Ignoring the little voice in his head calling him a coward, he'd abandoned the idea of talking to Snape about what was going on with him. He couldn't imagine the man would be interested in speaking with him about it anyway.   
  
And wouldn't Snape have to give up that nonsense if the shopkeepers and clerks behaved themselves? Perhaps he could shame them into doing just that.  
  
It wasn't a great plan, but it was a plan.  
  
He spotted Snape heading toward the second-hand bookshop. He wasn't all that much taller than Harry, but his stride was of the pavement-chewing variety, and Harry knew from experience he'd have to scramble to keep up with the man.   
  
"Morning, Snape."  
  
Without missing a step, as if Harry had been walking with him when he'd started out, Snape said, "Very observant, Potter. Has the task of pointing out the obvious been assigned to you?" He paused but Harry knew there'd be more. "How refreshing to see you gainfully employed, and in a position that you are so eminently qualified for."  
  
And there it was.  
  
Undaunted, and inwardly pleased that the Snape he knew was still in there somewhere, Harry asked, "So, did you get all the postcards I sent?"   
  
It'd begun as a lark, sending Snape postcards. He'd sent them to Teddy faithfully from each new place, but he'd found one that had made him think of Snape, and after that he'd made it a point to send one to him too. Harry had no delusions that the man had kept them, fixing them to ribbons to hang on the wall, as he knew Andromeda had done for Teddy, but he hoped … well, he didn't know what he hoped, actually, as it fell under the 'don't analyze too closely' rule.  
  
"Indeed. They made excellent kindling."  
  
Harry smiled and raised a hand to wave a friendly greeting at some of the shopkeepers, who were peeking out their windows, staring at the pair of them in surprise as they made their way down the alley.   
  
Then it dawned on him what Snape had said.  
  
"Oi! You're a wizard! You don't need _kindling_!" He hated the indignant sound of his voice, but it was entirely worth it to see the almost-smirk that accompanied the raised eyebrow.  
  
It was fleeting though, and disappeared entirely into a scowl as they reached the door to the second-hand bookshop. "Good day, Potter."  
  
"Actually, I'm going in too."  
  
Snape looked like he wanted to object, but he moved into the shop without another word.  
  
Harry had been so focused on Snape the first two trips to this shop that he'd never noticed the contents of the shelves, and he was surprised to find many more Muggle titles there than wizarding.   
  
While seeming to peruse the shop's offerings, Harry noted that the clerk was the same berk who'd thrown Snape's change on the floor.   
  
"So, it's himself, back again," the berk said snidely.  
  
Lifting a box from the floor, he slammed it on the counter. "It's all this, or nuthin' for yeh. Take it or leave it." He pushed the box toward the silent Snape so hard it hit the man's stomach, though Snape barely twitched.  
  
Moving out of the stacks, into the clerk's line of sight, Harry stood with a genuinely appalled look on his face. No matter how many times he'd seen it, he still couldn't believe people could behave like that.  
  
It was almost comical when the clerk finally noticed him, he did a sort of double-take and his eyes grew big with recognition. Harry crossed his arms, hoping his face conveyed the disapproval that was humming through him. Though he'd never really appreciated it before, he was suddenly thankful for his fame.   
  
The clerk's gaping mouth snapped shut, and there was an uncomfortable silence while he looked at Harry and Snape in turn with uncertainty. Then he stammered as he tore his eyes away from Harry, "Well? Uh, d'yeh… d'yeh want 'em or, uh, don't yeh?"  
  
"How much?" Snape asked.  
  
"Twe—" He flicked his eyes toward Harry. "Er, four Galleons, two Sickles."  
  
Snape threw five Galleons down on the counter, grabbed the box and stalked towards the door. "I've already told you once, Potter: mind your own business."  
  
Not only did Snape not take his change, he neglected the Owl Post altogether, and Harry had mixed feelings about the results of his plan, though it was too early to claim success or failure, in any case.  
  
The next shop on Snape's timetable was the butcher's on Wednesday, and when Snape arrived, Harry had already been chatting up the clerk behind the counter for half an hour. Younger than Harry, he was undeniably attractive, and the time had been spent pleasantly; better still, the cleaver-waving butcher was nowhere to be seen.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Snape demanded.  
  
"Good morning to you, too, Snape." Harry said brightly. "I'm buying meat; what does anyone do at the butcher's? Gareth here was just helping me pick out a nice piece of beef."  
  
Gareth seemed nervous and Harry waited to see if his efforts of the last half-hour would pay off. He looked alternately at Harry and Snape, at a loss for a moment, then asked, hesitantly, "Um, may I, er, help you, Professor?"  
  
The smile Harry beamed at Gareth was genuine, and the clerk looked both relieved and pleased.   
  
Snape, however, was neither.  
  
He looked livid for a moment and Harry's hand instinctively moved toward his wand, having had previous experience with that particular look.   
  
"You …" Snape growled and pointed at Harry.  
  
Whatever he meant to say, Harry would never know, as Snape turned on his heel and stalked out of the shop without another word.  
  
He paid for two large steaks in unspoken gratitude to Gareth, leaving the shop with a friendly "Cheers" and a casual promise to meet again at an unspecified future date.  
  
By Friday, Snape no longer appeared surprised to see Harry. And as one might have expected, he didn't seem pleased to see him either.   
  
Murderous, actually, was a more fitting description.  
  
He didn't look any more pleased, though, when the ladies at the teashop were completely unfazed by Harry's presence.  
  
Harry, on the other hand, had had enough. As Snape made his exit, Harry declared, "You both ought to be ashamed of yourselves!"  
  
He was about to launch into a list of reasons why, when the familiar-looking witch raised her hand. "Hold that thought," she demanded, before she disappeared into a back room.  
  
Startled, Harry did just that, hearing the distinctive whoosh of the Floo and then, "He's here."   
  
He then heard whoosh after whoosh and, wary, his hand went to his wand.  
  
Enid, the witch from Slug & Jiggers, led the group back into the small teashop; every merchant that Snape did regular business with was now glaring at Harry, including the cleaver-waving butcher, who looked enormous and frightful and entirely out of his element in the pink-drenched, fussily-decorated tea room. Gareth was the only friendly face, waving and smiling until the butcher turned his glare on him too.  
  
They began shouting all at once, but Enid took the situation in hand, whistling into the clamor. "Won't do a bit of good if you lot talk all over one another." She turned her attention to Harry. "Now, Mr. Potter, we were going to call a special meeting of WiLMA, but decided to speak with you directly ins—"  
  
The butcher cut her off. "What she's tryin' to say is, you need to stop stickin' yer nose in _our_ business. Just 'cos yer famous don't mean—"  
  
"Dad!" Gareth grabbed onto the butcher's arm to get his attention, looking sheepishly at Harry.  
  
Harry responded before someone else could have a say. "Wait just a minute. How can you lot be upset with me? You're the ones being awful to Snape! It's not right!"  
  
A few in the crowd wouldn't look Harry in the eye, though the bookshop fellow spoke up, "We was only treatin' 'im the way he wanted t'be treated!"  
  
"Nobody really _wants_ to be treated that way!" Harry denied.  
  
"You're wrong! You ask my sister, she'll tell you."  
  
Enid said, "Shut it, Edna." Harry realized then why the little witch had seemed familiar.  
  
"No," Edna said to her sister. "He ought to know what started it, if he's gonna have an opinion about it." Then to Harry, "Enid was the one that noticed it first. He came to her shop, growling, as he does, and she growled right back one day, and he spent twice what he normally had before that."  
  
The other teashop witch chimed in, "The customer _is_ always right, you know." She nodded in agreement with herself.  
  
"And some of us thought we should give him what he wanted," the Curiosity Shop witch put in.  
  
He turned to Enid. "You charged him _double_ for the aconite."  
  
She put her hands on hips, and said indignantly, "Well, I was selling it to him at an eighty per cent discount, wasn't I? That's hardly gouging his purse!"  
  
That brought Harry up short. "You… what?"  
  
Enid sniffed. "I know what it's meant for, don't I? Can't have werewolves running round loose without their dose of potion."  
  
Harry rubbed his face in consternation and then sighed. "Look, can't you see? Something's not right with him and you're taking advantage of it. It's not fair. He—" His chest constricted with long-buried emotion and he closed his eyes momentarily, trying to regain his composure. "He made everything possible; Snape and my mum were the real heroes, not me. I'm begging you to give him the same respect you would me or any other customer, really. He deserves so much more, but it's the least we can do for him."   
  
He took a heaving breath and said, "It's not too much to ask for, is it?"   
  
Not waiting for a response, he made his way out the door and headed straight for the Leaky Cauldron, where he intended to drink heavily for an hour or so, maybe more, depending upon the company.

  
~xXx~  
  
  
The hangover Harry awoke with the next day was earned honestly and he'd suffered in silence. He felt better by Monday, when he made his way once again to Diagon Alley. After his outburst the other day, he thought he ought to use the _Anonymous_ spell again—he considered not going at all, but he had to, had to know if it'd done any good.  
  
Snape made his way to the bookshop and entered without giving Harry a second glance. Harry had barely crossed the threshold himself when Snape pushed past him, and it took a moment to realize that the "Potter!" he'd spat as he exited was a general curse and not because Snape had recognized him.   
  
He dropped the _Anonymous_ and stepped into the shop. "What happened?"  
  
The clerk glared at him. "I was nice to 'im! Just like you asked, an' look what it got me!"  
  
Uncertain as to whether or not this was a successful turn of events, Harry tried to appease the man. "Look, I'm settling back down here and I plan to have a library—would you be able to help me stock it?"  
  
When he left an hour and forty minutes later, his purse was somewhat lighter, promising to be lighter still in the near future, and he and the clerk, Owen, were old friends.  
  
On Wednesday, Harry found himself the owner of a side of beef, four hams and thirteen quails.  
  
On Thursday, Snape failed to show at all.  
  
By Friday afternoon, Harry had become concerned. Edna and her counterpart paced the little teashop taking it in turns to peer out the doorway and down the alley, checking the time. Harry sat uncomfortably at one of the dozen lace-covered café tables, his Earl Grey growing cold in the dainty teacup.  
  
Harry admitted defeat on Monday when Owen asked with concern, "D'you reckon he's all right?"  
  
It was, he knew, time to face the music.  
  
"So you just arbitrarily decided to take action without speaking to him first?"  
  
Hermione's office was tastefully decorated and rather on the large-ish size, but it seemed to shrink to the size of a cubicle as her disappointment and alarm filled the room.  
  
"I get it, okay? I bollocksed it up!"  
  
"Harry, it's so much more than that—you've taken away his outlet without warning or anything to put in its place. There's no telling what he might resort to as a substitute!" The only thing keeping Harry from lashing back at her was the truly distressed tone in her voice.  
  
And the fact that he'd spent the entire weekend and most of that morning, wondering and worrying about the very same thing.   
  
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping to untangle the knots that were in his stomach. "How do I fix it?" He looked up and caught her eye, pleading with his own. "Please help me fix it, Hermione. I only meant to help."  
  
Harry could almost see the lecture on arrogance forming in her head, but nothing she could say would be worse than what he'd already thought of himself. Though there really wasn't anything much worse than her disappointment.  
  
His face must have conveyed some of that, as she sighed, then said, "Wait here."  
  
She squeezed his shoulder in comfort as she passed, and it filled him with gratitude.  
  
  
~xXx~  
  
  
Harry arrived at the shabby little terrace house in the dreary, very clearly Muggle neighborhood and consulted Hermione's instructions again, to be certain it was the correct one, wondering if she could have been mistaken. But as he approached the door, he felt the brush of magic that told him there were wards in place. They were weak, and probably wouldn't deter anything more than Muggles from knocking on his door, but wards nonetheless.   
  
He tried the bell first and received no response. When simple knocking didn't rouse the occupant, Harry resorted to pounding, and shouted, "Snape? I know you're in there!"  
  
There was something wrong, he was suddenly very certain, and he had to get inside. Prepared to use a _Reducto_ on the door if necessary, he was surprised to find it wasn't even locked.   
  
Wand drawn, he pushed it open and peered inside cautiously before entering.  
  
Snape's house was mess, and if Harry didn't know any better, he would've been certain that no one lived there.  
  
A light spilled out into the dingy room from the oddest place: one of the many bookcases that lined the walls. As Harry moved closer, he could see that the bookcase was actually a door, concealing a staircase. When he stepped around the sofa, his blood ran cold; Snape was in a heap on the floor at the foot of that staircase.  
  
He rushed over to the man, whispering desperate pleas to the universe, "No no no no no no. Please, no."  
  
In his haste, he kicked an empty Glenfarclas bottle, which slid into its twin with a loud clank, and Snape stirred, then looked up at him, bleary-eyed.   
  
Harry crouched down and was nearly knocked on his arse by the fumes.   
  
"You." Snape hiccupped. "Always you … Comin' here now, with your eyes…"  
  
"Yeah, well, I try not to go anywhere without them." Harry laughed, overwhelmingly relieved the man was just pissed as a newt and not dead. "Tend to get round much better if they're with me."   
  
He struggled to lift Snape from the floor; however trim he appeared, Snape was heavy and his resistance wasn't at all helpful. "C'mon now—up you get."   
  
Inevitably, they ended in a tangle on the floor and Snape touched his cheek, as if making sure Harry were really there.  
  
"Green eyes… Like a faerie. Are you a faerie, Harry? Faerie Harry. Faerie Potter." Snape snorted at his own joke, and Harry took a moment to thank his lucky stars nobody had thought of that one while he was at school. "Come t'take me away t'yer realm, Harry faerie?"  
  
Harry was mesmerized by this amusing side of Snape and oddly touched, which was why he didn't notice until it happened.   
  
Snape leant forward, pressing Harry to the floor, and kissed him sloppily.   
  
The taste of scotch danced on his tongue as time seemed to stop for a moment. Then it righted itself as Snape kissed him again, with much more skill, demanding a response. And Harry gave it to him, helpless to resist.   
  
A tiny voice of reason was screaming at Harry to stop, that Snape was not in his right mind, that this was wrong for so many reasons—reasons that would certainly occur to him once blood became available to his brain again.   
  
Then Snape grabbed the bulge growing in Harry's trousers.   
  
The tiny voice of reason was too busy moaning to object.  
  
Snape fumbled with the fastening of Harry's trousers, slipping a warm hand inside his pants and firmly stroking Harry's throbbing flesh, while frotting roughly against Harry's thigh and breathing wonderfully filthy things in his ears between the nibbling kisses he planted on Harry's neck and jaw.  
  
It was all too much, as three of his ten favorite Snape fantasies became reality simultaneously. Had he the ability to think, Harry might've been embarrassed as he cried out so early in the proceedings, coming in quick bursts onto his own stomach.   
  
As he came back to himself, he cringed at his loss of self-control, wondering what in the world to say to Snape.   
  
Then he realized it didn't matter: Snape was out cold.  
  
Sighing, Harry rolled the man off of him and laid him gently on the floor. He probably shouldn't have felt relieved, but he was, even knowing he'd likely have to pay for the reprieve later on. He wanted to be ashamed of himself, but he couldn't muster it. Instead, he cleaned himself up with magic, then hefted Snape's dead weight onto his shoulder, deciding that he owed it to Snape to carry him, and headed up the stairs in search of a bedroom.  
  
What he found was more of the same sort of neglect that he'd noticed downstairs. A thick layer of dust covered every available surface, the wallpaper was faded, the ceiling sagged unevenly, and everything seemed to be a dull gray, lending the entire house an air of neglect, of decay, and despair.   
  
Harry wondered how Snape even got out of bed, if this was what greeted him when he awoke each morning.  
  
He propped Snape up against the chest of drawers, using magic this time, then employed the housekeeping spells Molly Weasley had insisted he and Ron learn before moving out on their own, house-elf notwithstanding. Once the bed was freshened, he did his best to clean up Snape without violating him in any way, then tucked him in snugly, feeling a wave of affection roll over him.   
  
And that was the crux of it all, wasn't it? He cared about this man. Much more than he ever would have imagined possible.  
  
The Thing That He Refused To Think About was now lying at his feet, ready or not. He wanted to kick it under the carpet, but he'd been doing that for too long—years maybe, if he were honest.  
  
Harry pondered what to do about it while he cleaned the rest of Snape's small cottage. And that garnered something entirely unexpected for him to think about, as well, when he stumbled upon a beautiful mahogany marquetry box, inlaid with a harlequin design on the sides, its contents spilled across the floor where Snape had been lying.  
  
Postcards.   
  
All of the postcards Harry had sent him, including the first one, the one from Prague. It was actually a fairly bog standard postcard for Prague, depicting the statue of St. Wenceslas in the square named for him, so it wasn't the picture itself so much as the mood of the thing that had made him think of Snape. It was a photo of contrasts, dark and light, cold but there was warmth, stark and yet complex in its imagery.  
  
Fingering through the pile, Harry saw that he'd kept every single one. It was like a mini-photo history of Harry's travels, and it brought a smile to his face to remember the places he'd seen. He collected them and put them back into the box.   
  
Harry wasn't sure what it meant and tried not to read too much into it. But it was hard not to wonder, when those postcards had been contained in the only non-shabby item in the house, and it was impossible to deny the flutter the thought caused in his chest.  
  
He enjoyed the sensation for a moment then quashed it—Snape very well could've been headed to the fireplace, ready to chuck them in, box and all, as far as Harry knew.  
  
And he was no closer to an answer by the time Snape stumbled down the stairs, then stood stock still in the kitchen doorway, clearly unprepared for what he found. He was squinting intently at Harry, who was sitting at the table eating the Thai food he'd fetched after he'd finished cleaning and discovered that Snape had very little in the way of food, and no hangover potion whatsoever.  
  
When Snape looked, clearly horrified, to the floor at the foot of the stairs, Harry could see the memory drop into place. He raised a hand before Snape could say anything. "No. Don't. You don't get that one; that's mine. You were drunk, I wasn't. I could've and should've stopped it—but that's the only thing I regret about it."  
  
Snape walked slowly to the table and eased down into the empty chair; his only response was to put his head gingerly in his hands, hair falling in front of his face like a curtain.   
  
Harry poured Snape a cup of tea, then pushed it and the hangover potion toward him. "I, er, didn't know you were gay."  
  
"I suspect you could fill volumes with what you do not know about me," Snape gritted out. "Why are you here, Potter? Looking for work as a house-elf?"  
  
"I was worried about you." Harry smiled.   
  
"Idiot." He grumbled without rancor.  
  
"I brought you some food too—some very mild, pad Thai, or some soup, if even that's too much." When Snape made no move, Harry prodded, "Would you please just take the potion and eat something?"  
  
Snape relented, swallowing the dose with a grimace. He tentatively sniffed the carton of noodles, then opted for the coconut milk soup instead. Harry handed him a spoon and gave his attention back to his incredibly hot green curry.  
  
They ate in silence for a few moments, until Harry finally said quietly into his food, "I want to apologize." He looked at Severus, gauging his reaction but the face remained stony.   
  
"For?"  
  
"For interfering. For…" Harry stopped. "I thought I could fix things for you, but I've had a bit of time to think, and I've realized that my motives weren't as selfless as I thought. I jumped into it because _I_ didn't like seeing you that way. I wanted you to be the Snape in my head, the man I remember, the one who demanded respect and wouldn't have tolerated what those people were doing." He paused again, but Snape's expression didn't change. "Anyway, I'm sorry for that, for not trying to talk to you first."  
  
Snape studied him for a moment. "Apology accepted."  
  
Harry ate another forkful, though he was no longer hungry; when the burn of it settled to a hum on his tongue, he said, "I still don't understand why, though." Snape scrutinized his face for a moment then looked away and Harry pressed on, "Please. I want to … I _need_ to understand why you think you have to punish yourself."  
  
"You, of all people, should know precisely _why_." Snape pushed away from the table abruptly and left the room.   
  
Harry found him pacing in the living room. "Is this about my mother? So you were in love with her, then?"  
  
Snape stopped pacing and leant against the mantelpiece, staring into the fire. "I loved her, yes, but I was not _in love_ with her. Not that it's any of your concern."  
  
It actually was a great deal of concern to Harry, but that was neither here nor there at the moment. "I still don't understand—what has this to do with my mother?"  
  
"Don't be obtuse, Potter," Snape scoffed. "The choices I made, the very poor choices that I made caused her to die."  
  
"You didn't kill her, Snape, Voldemort did."  
  
"I might as well have done."  
  
"No! You didn't know telling him the prophecy you heard would lead him to me. And you're the one that doesn't understand now. Everything happened the way that it had to for his defeat. But more specifically, _your choices_ were the reason that I was able to do it. You're just as much a hero as anyone."  
  
"You're either stupid, or incredibly naïve."  
  
Harry didn't let the words rile him, sensing it was vital to remain calm in order to make Snape see the truth. "I'm not—it was your choice to ask Voldemort to spare her, and it was that very thing that made her sacrifice possible. In a way, that was the first time you saved my life." Snape seemed unconvinced and Harry pressed on, "Voldemort killed my dad without a thought, without a moment's hesitation, but not my mum. He offered _her_ a choice. 'Stand aside, you silly girl. You don't have to die.' By giving her a choice, even though she'd never have taken him up on it, it gave power to the sacrifice, enabled her to protect me with the blood magic."  
  
"You couldn't possibly know …"  
  
"I could and I do—I was there. What do you think I see and hear whenever a Dementor is near me?"  
  
Snape looked at him as if he'd never seen him before and something glimmered in the black eyes, something that, were it anyone else, Harry might have labeled respect, then Snape sat down hard on the nearest chair.  
  
"Is it forgiveness that you want?" Harry asked. "Because I've already forgiven you. And I _know_ that she wouldn't want this for you. Nothing you do to yourself or anyone else will bring her back. Nothing!" He took a breath, trying to remain calm. "But I'm absolutely certain she'd be unhappy to know you're hurting yourself in her name."  
  
"I do not deserve—"  
  
"You do." Harry interrupted. "Listen, who is the one who lost the most?" He answered his own question, "Me. If anyone was hurt by it, it was me. And if I can forgive you for it, how can you refuse to forgive yourself? It's sort of an insult to me and an insult to my mother's memory if you don't."  
  
Harry had to prod him, as the silence between them stretched taut. "Snape?"  
  
Snape seemed to have melted or shrunk with resignation and he responded wearily, "What do you want from me, Potter?"  
  
That was a loaded question for certain and a bubble of hysterical laughter caught in Harry's throat. He moved to stand in front of Snape. "What do I want?" When the man looked up at him from his perch, Harry leant forward, "I've already told you. Beyond that, _this_ is what I want!" and kissed him.  
  
Snape didn't move, neither pushing Harry away nor returning the kiss in kind.   
  
Well, there was an answer.   
  
"But I can't have that, can I?" The hysterical laughter became somewhat watery as it trickled out of him. "So what I'll settle for is for you to stop punishing yourself, for you to start actually _living_ your life."   
  
He squeezed Snape's shoulder as he moved away from him. Harry had to get out of there before he made a bigger fool of himself than he already had, but he couldn't help adding, "And maybe, if you think you could possibly … I'd like for us to at least be friends."  
  
Harry saw the stiff nod, and hope bloomed in his heart as he closed the door and Apparated away.  
  
  
~xXx~  
  
  
Harry stood back and admired his handiwork. Several months into the renovations and he'd finally mastered the architectural spells that restored his large stone cottage to its former glory.  
  
With work on the cottage finished, it was the smaller of the two outbuildings, which had come as part of the property, that now had his attention.   
  
The larger structure was obviously meant for horses and Harry was seriously considering that option—he'd had some experience with horses when he was in Montana and had loved working with them. Not to mention that he was toying with the idea of a pony for Teddy's seventh birthday.   
  
Andromeda would likely throttle him, but it would be entirely worth it.   
  
This building, though, was something else altogether. Now that the walls were structurally sound, the roof repairs were next. He was about to get to it, when the wards alerted him that someone had crossed them.  
  
Hermione asserted that it was impossible, but Harry could usually tell who it was when that happened, and he recognized this visitor immediately and made his way into, then through his home toward the front door.   
  
His friendship with Severus Snape had been unexpected, in that it was all very … _normal_. Twice-weekly chess games and shared evenings in the library that he—along with some assistance from Owen—had helped Harry to fill were how they spent most of their time together, unless Harry was helping Snape with his monthly Wolfsbane brewing.  
  
Although Harry harbored a desire for more, he gladly accepted whatever the man was able to give him.  
  
"Gareth sends his regards." Snape said by way of greeting, striding past Harry and into the kitchen.  
  
Harry flushed as he followed in Snape's wake, recalling the two rather uncomfortable outings he'd had with the butcher's son. "Great," he muttered, meaning quite the opposite. "Where'd you see _him_?"  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow and held aloft a parcel wrapped in white paper in answer, setting the bottle of wine he carried in his other hand on the granite work surface of the center island.  
  
"You come bearing meat?" Harry smirked.  
  
"Along with the astounding ability to make it into an actual meal."   
  
The irritating flutter was back and Harry did his best to tamp it down. "You're going to cook for me?"  
  
"Your take-away habit is appalling, and the disuse of a kitchen such as this, even more so." He gestured around the room and Harry couldn't argue: it was a great kitchen.  
  
Harry watched, thoroughly enjoying the way Snape moved around the space with the same sort of grace that he had while brewing.   
  
Something was different about him, though, he decided.   
  
Namely, apart from that one little tumble on Snape's floor, whether by accident or design, they'd not had any sort of physical contact whatsoever—not even a simple brushing of fingertips while passing a teacup. But Severus touched Harry's arm and shoulder several times, veiled in a reach for things, such as pans, and knives, and spices (which Harry didn't even know he owned, come to think of it), or the pressing of a hand to shift Harry out of the way.  
  
It was as mind-boggling as it was arousing, and Harry thought leaving the room might be prudent, and maybe showering. Yes, a shower would be good. Definitely. He'd been working on the building most of the day, of course, and likely needed it.  
  
"I'm gonna—" He moved to do just that, when Snape stepped into his path.  
  
As happened once before, time seemed to stop and Harry's breath caught.   
  
_Too close too close too close!_ his instincts shouted at him. It was only a matter of inches that separated them, and Harry wanted very badly to bridge that gap. He looked into Snape's black eyes, befuddled by what he saw there, and by what he himself was feeling: desperate for more, and equally desperate to preserve what he'd managed to build with this somewhat difficult but entirely worthwhile person.   
  
They stood facing one another, suspended in time; the only thing stirring was the slight heaving of chests with the shallow breaths of desire, until Harry swallowed, then time returned again, and Snape finally did what Harry was incapable of doing.   
  
Lifting his hands to either side of Harry's face, he closed the distance, capturing Harry's lips, gently at first, then more insistently, running his thumbs along Harry's cheekbones, wrenching a sound from Harry that was part sob of relief and part cry of joy.  
  
Breaking away momentarily, Harry said, "Severus?"  
  
Snape smirked. "Harry."  
  
Oh god. Harry pulled him closer, wanting more and receiving it as lips met again, tongues tasted and slid against one another, arms tangled and hands roamed. Harry's hands smoothed over Snape's back, then down to a surprisingly rounded arse, which Harry pulled toward him, forcing their hips together, and hard length met hard length.  
  
"Bed. Now," Severus demanded.  
  
"What about dinner?" Harry asked rather stupidly.  
  
Severus didn't seem to notice. "It is a roast," he said simply, as if that answered the question.  
  
It might've at that—Harry didn't know anything beyond that he had to get inside the black robes immediately. He decided in the interest of speed to Apparate them directly to his bedroom, and wasted no time pulling the robes open, unwrapping the man as if he were a gift, revealing the smooth, pale skin of his chest and black tight-fitted trousers.  
  
"I wish to make love to you," Severus growled.  
  
"Oh god, yes," Harry breathed. "As long as I get to return the favor on occasion. Yes."  
  
Severus made a noise in his throat that might've been a moan, but it disappeared into Harry's mouth as Severus claimed it, moving him toward the large four-poster, tugging at Harry's shirt.  
  
"Agreed."  
  
He maneuvered Harry onto the bed, and Harry let him, helping when Severus went for the fastening on his jeans. Once he was stripped bare, Harry felt entirely wanton and not a little bit vulnerable, as Severus was still mostly clothed.   
  
It was enormously thrilling.  
  
But not nearly as much as when Severus said, "Lie down," and then silently conjured silky cords. He raised an eyebrow in question, and Harry nodded, growing harder by the moment.   
  
When the cords were fastened, Severus leant close and murmured in a smoky voice, "So you're not tempted to assist in any way."   
  
He grazed Harry's earlobe with his teeth, beginning a trail of nibbling, maddening kisses that explored his neck, his arms, his chest, lingering over tight nipples, until Harry was a squirming mass of want and need.  
  
"Beautiful," Severus intoned, dragging a hand down Harry's torso.  
  
"I want to see you. Please?"  
  
Severus complied, throwing off the robes without hesitation, then sliding the black trousers down his legs and stepping out of them and kicking them to the side.  
  
There was nothing perfect about Severus's body—he was entirely too thin and the pale expanse of skin was marred by a few rather garish scars—but he was gorgeous to Harry's eyes. His cock, though, was perfect, as far as Harry could see, heavy with desire, big without being intimidating, and Harry wanted very badly to touch, pulling on the restraints for the first time.  
  
Severus must have taken the desperate little noise Harry made as a sign of approval, because he crawled onto the bed, straddling Harry, bending forward to kiss him hungrily, causing their hot, hard pricks to slide against one another. Harry raised his hips to increase the friction, but Severus stopped him.  
  
"Oh no, none of that just yet. I have much planned for you," Severus promised and Harry moaned.  
  
The thin lips made their way down Harry's torso once again; this time though, Severus's hot mouth found Harry's throbbing flesh, his tongue sliding up the shaft, then teasing the slit, swirling around his sensitive glans, and then teasing the slit once more.   
  
Harry pulled on the cords again, this time to pull himself up, he had to look, he had to see and oh god, it was even better than his fantasies, to see that black head moving up and down between his legs.   
  
Severus swallowed Harry's cock to the root, then slid back up, repeating the move. Without any guidance from Harry's brain, his hips thrust upward, but Severus pressed down, holding them still.   
  
"Annggggghhh!" Harry cried. He was so, so close, but Severus kept him on the edge, sucking just enough to drive him mad but not enough to finish him off.  
  
"Patience, Harry. There's so much more in store for you," the velvet voice promised.  
  
Severus bent back to his task, swirling his tongue around then sucking into his mouth each of his bollocks, alternately licking and nipping at the sac. He stopped long enough to push Harry's legs up to his chest, folding him in half, then bending down once again and paying special attention to his perineum, kissing and sucking and tonguing the soft skin there and driving up Harry's need to a nearly unbearable level.  
  
Or so he thought until Severus kissed along his cheek, licked the crease that separated it from his leg, continued to its mate, and spread them apart, breathing hot, moist air on his most intimate spot, and Harry thought he might explode from the naughty delight of it.  
  
Severus lifted Harry's hips higher, so much so that Harry could reach his ankles, hands tied as they were, to help keep the angle that Severus was trying to achieve. He kissed the cheeks again, spread them, then swiped his tongue over the puckered skin he'd exposed, and Harry's entire body hummed, vibrating with pleasure.  
  
The devilish tongue firmed and swirled around the hole, teasing, then plunged in, pulled back and plunged in again.  
  
"Annngggguuuuhhhh! Oh god please please please please please… Severus! Ungh!" He tried to push his arse up higher, tried to will that tongue in deeper, but Severus just chuckled against his hole, leaving a kiss there before raising his head.   
  
He muttered something and Harry felt a tingle of magic. "I'm going to fuck you. Is that what you want? Is that what you're begging for, Harry?"  
  
"Yes! Yes! Please please please…" Desperate and aching for release Harry moaned, pushing his arse higher again in demand, not caring a whit what he might look like. "Fuck me! Yeah, fuck me please please please."  
  
Severus stood over him, then knelt down, aligning his cock and pressing in slowly, easing in until Harry felt so full and so perfect that he wanted to cry. Once fully seated, Severus leant forward slightly, easing Harry's ankles from his grip and resting them on his own shoulders, then lacing his fingers with Harry's, letting the restraints support them both.  
  
Harry grew impatient for Severus to move and clenched around him.   
  
"Impatient brat," Severus grunted with affection, but gave into the sensation, pulling back then thrusting forward again and again, changing his angle upon reentry until he found the one that caused sparks to fly behind Harry's eyes.   
  
"Oh god. Right there. Don't stop!!"  
  
Severus dropped one hand and used it to pull Harry's head up by his neck, kissing him roughly, never breaking his rhythm. Then he reached down and gripped Harry's aching cock, stroking only a few times before Harry plunged over the edge Severus had had him dancing on throughout, howling in ecstasy, then moaning encouragements as Severus continued to pump, faster and harder, slamming his hips into Harry, until he growled roughly and slammed in once more, then stilled, filling Harry with warmth.  
  
Harry sighed in satisfaction and melted into the mattress, Severus's weight a comfort.   
  
When he came back to himself, Severus was straightening his legs, rubbing at Harry's hips and thighs to ease the stiffness. Wandlessly, he released Harry's arms and rubbed the circulation back into them as well. As soon as he could feel them again, Harry wrapped them around Severus and pulled him down to lie next to him.  
  
He kissed Severus soundly, then said breathlessly, "That was … wow."  
  
"Indeed." He sounded sardonic, but Severus looked rather too pleased with himself to pull it off, and rightly so. It was, by far, the best shag Harry had ever had.  
  
Harry didn't want to break the mood, but he suddenly needed reassurance, so he said as lightly as possible and without looking at him, "Please tell me this wasn't a one-off."  
  
"Certainly not. I do not _do_ one-offs."  
  
"Good." He rolled onto his side, turning toward Severus. "Hi. What took you so long?"  
  
Severus took a moment to answer, and looked as if he did so somewhat unwillingly. "I was … uncertain of my reception, after I'd originally rejected your offer. I endeavored to test the waters, so to speak."  
  
The casual touches. Harry could hardly blame him, and it encouraged him to go out on a limb of his own. "I, er, know this might be a bit premature, but I started working on the smaller outbuilding today. I intend to make it suitable for brewing potions…"  
  
Severus closed his eyes, but looked pleased, then leant forward to kiss him. "Then you won't mind terribly that I took the liberty of stocking your kitchen with items I might need to cook a proper meal."  
  
Harry beamed at him, threw his arm across Severus's chest, and used Severus's shoulder as a pillow, sighing in joyous contentment.  
  
"Severus?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Welcome," he murmured. "Welcome home."  
  
  
  
  
~FIN~


End file.
